<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>(Just) Waiting Around by unsettled</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282488">(Just) Waiting Around</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled'>unsettled</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>'it's just sex' they said, Bits of fluff, FFH post credit scene? No!, FFH? Yes!, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, More angsty than intended, Mutual Pining, POV Tony Stark, Peter's in his early twenties, Pining, Praise Kink, Self Confidence Issues, bottom!tony, pining tony is just the saddest okay?, slight dom!Peter, top!Peter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In May, Peter comes back to New York.</p><p>He's twenty-two and grown into his skin and when Tony sees him, it hits him like a brick how gorgeous Peter's become. Not that he wasn't before, but— Tony tried not to think of him that way, tried very hard to take all the times he'd noticed Peter and tuck them away. </p><p>Peter's not having any of that. After all, they can have a good time together, right? It doesn't have to be anything more than that, <i>right?</i></p><p>Sure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ironspiders Georg Secret Stocking Stuffer Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Just) Waiting Around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLink/gifts">RedLink</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello RedLink!</p><p>I sort of ended up trying to cram in as many of your likes in as possible and I hope they end up working for you! It got a lot longer and angstier than intended because… well, pining Tony is the saddest, but hopefully it’s not too much, and the end makes up for it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In May, three things happen.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter comes back to New York.</p><p>He's twenty-two and grown into his skin and when Tony sees him, it hits him like a brick how gorgeous Peter's become. Not that he wasn't before, but— Tony tried not to think of him that way, tried very hard to take all the times he'd <em> noticed </em> Peter and tuck them away. The fact that he was even having those thoughts, when Peter was— Tony tries to limit how much of a dirty old man he can be.</p><p>Peter's comfortable with himself in a way that he hadn't quite managed before, a certain amount of that awkwardness gone. Or maybe it's just that Tony hasn't seen him till now; they haven't talked in years. Not really. He saw Peter, once, when he was still recovering. Still too weak to do much of anything, and maybe that had done something. Made Peter realize that Tony's just a man in the end, or scared him off, or... something, Tony's not sure.</p><p>Whatever it was, the texts became more sporadic, the voicemails fewer, until both tapered off entirely and Tony didn't know quite how to bring them back. There isn't any way of asking Peter to bug him again that isn't more than a little pathetic, and some part of Tony doesn't want to open their chat and see a string of unanswered messages attached to his name. When he gave a lecture one year, Peter was there watching, and let Tony take him out to dinner and spend a few hours talking, catching up; even let him throw a little money around in an attempt make Peter's life easier. It hadn't seemed like Peter was uncomfortable, but... Peter didn't reach out after that either, despite Tony's attempts to tell Peter he'd welcome it. Tony told himself that for once, just once, he could let someone have what they wanted. If what Peter wanted was distance, and silence, then Tony would give it to him.</p><p>It had been... upsetting. Five years he'd spent thinking about Peter, drowning in the guilt and pain of losing him; now he's back, but most of the time Tony wouldn't even know. Doesn't know when he wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, Peter disintegrating in his dreams over and over. He knows it's a violation of Peter's privacy, knows it goes counter to Peter's clear desire for distance, but having FRIDAY show him bits of Peter's life, fragments of Peter on campus, at work, traveling and talking and existing happily without Tony around— sometimes, that's the only thing that can stop the panic attacks that rise up at the thought of Peter disappearing again.</p><p>So, it had hurt. But seeing Peter now, Tony knows it was worth it. Peter got the chance to figure out how to be his own person, and Tony's glad that he finally managed to not smother someone he loves. What's that thing, that saying about letting things go so they can come back to you? Maybe that's what happened. Maybe Peter's coming back to more than just New York.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter officially becomes an Avenger.</p><p>Not that he wasn't one before, really. After all, Tony dubbed him an Avenger in space, but apparently that doesn't count or something. He'd been on the reserves, at least, while he was off at MIT, but Tony would have fought for it if the others hadn't planned on letting Peter finish college first. Nothing was going to stop Peter from going out and being a friendly neighborhood hero, but the high profile, high stress, high danger commitment of being on the main team could be delayed.</p><p>Now he thinks he's ready— is ready, it looks like. Trains and goes off on missions and saves the world before it knows it's at risk, and he works with the rest of the team so much better than Tony ever did. Tony didn't fit with the first team and he doesn't fit with the second, and if he's being honest, he's never going to do well within the team structure. He's tried, and he wants— well, it doesn't matter. Peter flourishes with a team and he should have had one all along.</p><p>Tony isn't an Avenger anymore. If he ever really was. He still makes their gear and pays for upkeep and does the rounds of the press and does what he can to keep the tide turned in favor of the Avengers and if there's ever a world ending, all hands on deck disaster, he's there. But he doesn't go on the usual missions or make the real decisions, and he doesn't think he's missed that much. Rhodey's not him—in so many ways, he's better—but he can do most of the things Tony's good for in the armor, so he's the one that tends to go out when there's a need for that kind of tactical support.</p><p>Because the truth of it is that Tony's getting old.</p><p>Yeah, okay, he's only in his fifties, in sight of his sixties, but they've been a long fifty-mumble years. It all takes its toll in the end— the drinking and partying and drugs before Afghanistan, those months in the caves and the metal in his chest, the palladium, the hits he took when fighting. The recovery from the gauntlet. It shows, more and more each year, the damage he's taken. The injuries that never healed quite right, those vulnerable spots that kept breaking; the nerve damage and the heart damage and the lung damage and— the mental shit; the parts of his body that are artificial now, reconstructed; the scarring, inside and out. He's not who he used to be, his body reminding him of that over and over, and he's— he's so tired. He's always so tired. That doesn't go away either.</p><p>He'd thought about Extremis. Had played with it a bit more, but in the end— all he'd managed originally was to stabilize it for Pepper, and he's not ready to take that further risk on himself. Not yet; maybe one day, when it's a last resort or he's tired of waiting for old age to finish catching up, but not yet.</p><p>It's hard, watching Peter go out and not being there. Knowing the team has his back, but Tony can't offer that on the field. So hard watching him come back in worse shape than he went out; even if Peter heals obscenely fast, it still hurts. He still gets hurt and Tony can't do anything about that. </p><p>Oh, he takes notes and finds all the places Peter was left open, burns through suit improvements to close those gaps, but he can't stop Peter from throwing himself directly into the line of fire. He can't, and it's so hard not to at least try, but he knows where that leads. The damage Tony knows about is infinitely better than what Peter might hide. He doesn’t want to take any chances that Peter will go back to hiding things from him. </p><p>Peter’s still hiding his identity; he’s one of the few Avengers still doing so. The street level heroes, most of them are still keeping that separation between themselves and their superhero selves. And when it comes down to it, no matter what team Peter ends up on or where he goes or how high profile he becomes, Peter’s still one of them. His heart is still out patrolling the streets and stopping the daily grind of petty crimes and being helpful. </p><p>It’s a good visual, even if Peter would never think of it that way. Peter likes to help, can’t quite help himself. There’s a kind of satisfaction that Tony misses in it; when Peter comes home—base? Is it home yet? Tony hopes it can be, someday—when he comes home, the ways he’s helped, the people who’ve thanked him, the good he’s put back out in the world is obvious. Is crystal clear, and that feels <em> good. </em> </p><p>Tony knows—he does—that the work he's doing is still saving people. Is saving innumerable people, before they even know they need saving. And that feels good too, but the people who see it, the people who understand it, are few and far between. It’s not that Tony needs the accolades— god, maybe he does, maybe even though he thinks he’s trained himself out of it, he’s still a little desperate for someone to notice.</p><p>Either way, Peter will never look at him and admire that Tony’s managed to kill another dangerous bill before it really even hit the floor, or thrown his money and his support behind another fledgling, brilliant group, or stretched the limits of what his body armor can do and then stretched them again. Those lives can’t compare to the sort of thing Peter does. </p><p>It’d be nice if he did, though.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter starts sleeping with him.</p><p>There was never— Tony was never going to do anything. Never. But because he's missed Peter so much and seen Peter so little, he slips up. He lets himself look when they spend time together, because there's no harm in looking, right? It's not like Tony could ever have completely stopped himself from watching Peter a little too close, after everything. Some part of him is always a little surprised to see Peter, relieved, and that part won't let him miss the opportunity to look while Peter's still there. It won't lead to anything, even if Peter notices.</p><p>Peter notices.</p><p>He's talking about combining nanoparticles with web fluid, though Tony lost the thread a while ago, just listening to the sound of Peter and looking, watching him. He should be content just to have Peter in his space, tolerating his company, but— Tony still wants. So he looks and wants and realizes, eventually, that Peter's stopped talking. Peter's... looking back at him. Peter's <em> noticed. </em></p><p>There's this awful tense moment, Tony just waiting for Peter to say something, do something, do— shit, no. Tony looks away. Goes back to his project, and if he’s not really doing anything useful, not registering any part of it, well. Peter doesn’t know. </p><p>Please don’t let him know. Please let him just… pretend nothing happened.</p><p>There’s a little shuffle of shoes on cement, Peter coming over; oh no. “Tony,” Peter says, and Tony’s going to ignore that. </p><p>“Hey,” Peter says. “Don’t ignore me.” He shifts, comes a little closer and little further into Tony’s field of vision, more difficult to dismiss. “Are we going to talk about this?”</p><p>“Talk about what?” So sue him, he’s going to pretend nothing happened as long as he can. Maybe Peter will have mercy on him.</p><p>Peter sighs. “The way you keep looking at me. I’m not blind, Tony.”</p><p>Fuck. </p><p>“God,” Tony mutters. He closes his eyes; he feels sick. “I’m sorry, Peter. I— I didn’t mean to be such a fucking creep. Doesn’t matter, I know. I promise I’ll stop.” Please just don’t leave again, he thinks, wishes he could say without it making things look worse. I just got you back, please don’t let me fuck up and chase you away again.</p><p>There’s a long beat of silence. “Uh,” Peter says. “That’s— okay, look.” He closes his fingers around Tony’s wrist and tugs, lightly; Tony doesn’t resist as Peter spins him on his stool until they’re facing each other. </p><p>“That’s not really what I was asking for,” Peter says, and then his hand is on Tony’s face and he’s <em> kissing </em> Tony. </p><p>He’s kissing Tony and Tony really should not be kissing back, but Peter’s mouth is soft and warm and he’s thought about this entirely too often. Peter’s smiling when he pulls away.</p><p>“What?” Tony says, one of his better comebacks.</p><p>“I wasn’t looking for an apology,” Peter says, “or for you to stop. I was really hoping for the opposite. Was— was I wrong? Was that wrong?”</p><p>“This is a really bad idea,” Tony tells him. </p><p>Peter huffs. “Yeah, I don’t think it is,” he says. “I mean, there’s nothing that wrong with us having a good time, right? And I’m older now.”</p><p>“Me too,” Tony says, and Peter rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Wow,” Peter says. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Come on, Tony. I won’t get all weird about it, I promise.” He hesitates. “You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just. I thought…”</p><p>“You actually want this?” Tony says, because Peter’s seen a little more of his disastrous side than most, and that generally sends people away. </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>So many reasons, Tony thinks. So many good reasons. </p><p>Peter steps a little closer, legs bumping into the stool between Tony’s thighs. He trails his hand down the side of Tony’s face, cups the corner of his jaw, fingers spread wide over the back of Tony’s neck. “It’s just sex,” he says, softly, and oh. </p><p>Oh, of course. </p><p>Right, well—  “Alright, kid,” Tony says. “Your funeral.” </p><p>It’s not, Tony thinks as Peter kisses him again. It’s Tony’s. Because if Peter wants to have a few rounds with him to kill off whatever is left of his childhood crush, Tony will give it to him. Never mind that it’s going to kill him when Peter moves on, when Peter's had his fun and seen through those last illusions he has of Tony.</p><p>He’ll make it good for Peter while it lasts. </p><p>And actually— wow, Peter knows how to kiss. He’d much rather be paying attention to that, to how Peter’s hands are curved around his head so gently, how Peter is teasing him a little, how he’s pressing faint kisses to the corner of Tony’s mouth, delicate kisses along his jaw. How he just takes control of things when he finally kisses Tony properly again, and Tony is more than okay with that. </p><p>Somewhere along the way Tony’s hands end up on Peter’s waist, caught in his clothes and clinging, wanting more. There isn’t much closer for Peter to be, but Tony tries for it anyway, slides to the very edge of his stool and tugs Peter in. Peter smiles against his lips, like he’s actually pleased by that, and his kisses turn deeper. Turn a little dirty even, and fuck, Tony is actually happy to be necking like teenagers. </p><p>Peter pulls back after a bit, long after they’ve started shifting against each other, wanting—needing—that extra contact. “I’d really like to do this somewhere with a bed,” Peter says. Oh, fuck, Tony thinks, they’re— they’re doing this <em> now. </em> Peter’s not wasting any time. </p><p>“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Tony says. “You’re in luck; I know just the place.”</p><p>Having Peter in his bedroom feels unreal. Like one of those few, rare fantasies he’d let himself have has come to life, and the more Tony wants to believe it, the less he should. But god, there’s no wanting, no pretending, no shoulds at all; Peter is there, in the flesh, solid under Tony’s hands. There, <em> there, </em> in Tony’s hands. </p><p>Tony sits on the edge of the bed and doesn’t have a chance to do much more; Peter’s in his lap, kneeling over it before Tony can blink. Is yanking his shirt off—Jesus Christ, look at him—and grabbing Tony’s hands, pressing them against Peter’s skin. </p><p>“Please,” Peter says. “Please touch me, Tony. Just— just touch me; god, I’ve been dreaming about your hands so long.”</p><p>Well, Peter’s not going to have to ask twice.</p><p>He wants to be careful with Peter; he doesn’t have the first clue what he’s done, but he’s still got that sort of innocent air about him. Tony doesn’t want to toss him in the deep end before he’s ready, because he’s sure Peter would go along with just about anything if he thought Tony wanted it. </p><p>“Peter,” he says between kisses, running his hands up Peter’s sides. “Baby. Hey, what do you like? I mean, do you know, really?” </p><p>Peter stills, and Tony has a second to think <em> oh shit </em>before Peter sitting back a bit. And smiling, amused even, so maybe this isn’t a disaster. “Tony,” he says. “You know I’ve had sex before, right?”</p><p>“Uh. Well, yeah?” Tony says. “I’d kind of assumed so?” even though in the back of his head, he hadn’t thought much about it. Hadn’t let himself think much about it. </p><p>“I know what I like,” Peter says. “I’ve had like, a lot of sex with a lot of people and have figured it out pretty well. I just— I’m not sure what you like?”</p><p>A lot, huh? He wonders how much ‘a lot’ is for Peter. Half a dozen? Maybe just into double digits? If it’s not just a slight exaggeration so Tony doesn’t treat him too gently. “Yeah?” Tony says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s a lot, then?”</p><p>Peter gives him this little mock glare, definitely still sensitive about it, about their differences in experience. “I mean,” he starts, and then hesitates. “I’m— I’m not a slut,” he says. “I don’t sleep with just anyone, okay?” </p><p>“I wasn’t saying— of course you’re not,” Tony says. The way Peter’s gone all defensive hurts a little, that he really thinks Tony might judge him. After all, Tony was—is—one, and there’s no denying that. “Baby, you don’t have to tell me. I was just teasing, that’s all.”</p><p>“Right,” Peter says, settling a little. “Right. Sorry, just— a couple people were kinda dicks about it after they found out, that’s all,” and god, Tony really wants to know now. </p><p>“Doesn’t matter to me,” Tony says. “Let’s get back on track, hmm?” Peter huffs softly when Tony kisses his neck, slides his own hands up under Tony’s shirt. </p><p>“A couple over thirty,” Peter says, suddenly. “I’m not quite sure how threesomes are supposed to count, so…” </p><p>What, Tony thinks, what? That’s— </p><p>“I was careful,” Peter says, that defensiveness back, and Tony realizes he’s stopped moving, frozen against Peter. “I was, I’m clean and I didn’t—”</p><p>“I believe you,” Tony says hurriedly, his mind still sort of static, failing to process. “I was just, uh, surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t thinking anything bad, I promise.”</p><p>Peter looks at him, his head ducked a little. “What were you thinking?”</p><p>“Honestly?” Tony says, grasping at the first thing that sticks. “I was wondering where the hell you found time. I know what your course load was like, and don’t even pretend you didn’t go patrolling all the time.”</p><p>Peter rolls his eyes; seriously? "They’re called weekends, Tony,” he says. God, he’s a little shit sometimes.</p><p>“Wow, thanks so much,” Tony snipes at him, and Peter grins. “How was I supposed to guess you’d turned into a sex fiend?”</p><p>“Ugh, that’s not—” Peter starts, and then trails off as he seems to realize Tony’s still just teasing him. “I mean… it’s fun, you know?” he says. “It feels good and I’m a little less wound up after and it’s just nice.”</p><p>“I do know,” Tony says, because Peter’s right. If you can keep all the messy emotions out of it, casual sex can be just… nice and fun. “No drama?”</p><p>Peter shrugs. “It almost always ends well,” he says. “Like— I don’t sleep with people I don’t like, and I started being clear about what I was up for early on. So everyone knows it’s just for a bit, for fun. You just… start having connections that are on the same page after a while.”</p><p>“Doing better than I ever did, it sounds like,” Tony says. “And now I’m even more curious what those things you said you’d figured out you liked were.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Peter says, looking a lot more comfortable. “I like pretty much anything oral. Doing it or getting it, it’s all really nice. I really, really like rimming my partners,” and <em> fuck, </em> that’s not a collection of words Tony ever imagined coming out of Peter’s mouth. Especially not in that tone, with that sly little look, like he knows exactly what this is doing to Tony.</p><p>“I don’t like anything mean,” Peter says. “I don’t really like pain except for like, biting, scratching, that’s nice sometimes,” and Tony drags his nails down the length of Peter’s back, slow. Peter arches into it, his eyes closing. “Yeah,” he says, “like that, you can do that as much as you want, ugh. Harder, even.” </p><p>Tony does.</p><p>Peter shudders, his hands tightening on Tony’s waist. “I like— god, Tony. I like dirty talk, sort of? I uh, don’t really think about it but apparently I just… am talkative. You can tell me to shut up or like, gag me if you want. Not everyone likes that, I know.”</p><p>“Not happening,” Tony mutters, dropping his forehead onto Peter’s shoulder. “Jesus, Peter, you’re killing me. No way am I going to keep you from talking.” </p><p>Peter’s laugh at that is gorgeous; he wants to make Peter laugh like that again and again. “It’s not ever mean, or— uh, humiliating? Demeaning, I guess? I just like telling people how good they’re making me feel, or how hot they are, you know. Stuff like that.” </p><p>“Killing me,” Tony repeats. “I am absolutely on board with all of this, sweetheart.” </p><p>“Oh, good,” Peter says. “I mean, I just had no real idea what you’d like at all. Like you hear things but I’m not going to believe some random person making money off saying it.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t be the first,” Tony mutters. </p><p>“People are stupid,” Peter says, and manages to get Tony’s shirt off. Stops, just stops completely, staring, and Tony— Tony knows, he knows it’s not awful but even with plastic surgery there’s still scars, and the more recent ones still haven’t gone pale. </p><p>Peter moves, finally. Presses his hand over Tony’s heart, smoothing it down, slowly. “This is so much hotter than I imagined,” he mutters, almost to himself. And then, while Tony’s still recovering from that, while Peter’s tracing his finger along the line of the scar from removing the reactor; “Also, I really like topping. Really prefer it; I was pretty much exclusively topping the last year, actually. And— topping for other stuff too, just a little. Like I said, I don’t enjoy hurting people, but being… pushy, kind of— directing things? I like that.”</p><p>“Uh,” he says, looking up. “I mean, I don’t hate bottoming or anything. It’s fine, I’ll totally do it and enjoy it and everything.” </p><p>Tony is losing his mind. This is just— the opposite of anything he would have expected, and that’ll show him. The thought of Peter fucking him, Peter telling him just what he wants and praising him the whole time and loving it— he hasn’t bottomed in years and he cannot fucking wait.</p><p>“Tony?”</p><p>He blinks at Peter. “Yes,” he says. “Yes to everything you’ve said. God, Peter, I am so turned on right now I can barely think. Please, anything you said.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Peter says. “I mean. Same. Oh my god, Tony, I bet you’ll look so good coming on my cock.” </p><p>Tony is fucking <em> dead. </em></p><p>“Please,” he says. “Peter, please.”</p><p>*</p><p>Don't get him wrong: the sex is great.</p><p>The sex is amazing actually, which is something Tony wouldn't have expected. He hadn't— let himself think about Peter like that, in detail, so he could say he wasn't expecting anything in particular. But he'd still had these thoughts somewhere in the back of his head, shoved down, and they had been stuck on the Peter he knew a few years ago. The Peter that might have been shyer, more uncertain, less experienced. The sex still would have been something else, because it's <em> Peter, </em> but this— this is the best of both.</p><p>So. The sex is great. But what Tony really loves, even more than every bit of the sex, is the after. The— well, yeah, the cuddling.</p><p>The way Peter sprawls half on top of him, his head over Tony's heart; he's a little heavy but nothing in the world could make Tony tell him that. Or how Peter will let Tony tuck himself along Peter's side, arm wrapped around Peter's stomach and chin resting on the knob of Peter's shoulder while Peter stares up at the ceiling, and doesn't make him feel clingy for doing so. Even how it feels with Peter curled against his back, arms around him, breathing quietly into Tony's hair; there's generally a little wrangling over who gets to be the big spoon and Tony's okay with the fact that he loses more often than not. It's not like he can really squirm out of it if Peter decides this isn't a discussion anymore.</p><p>Doesn't that sound dumb, Tony thinks, sometimes. That he's fonder of that than almost anything else? Maybe.</p><p>He really doesn’t care, because those are the moments where this feels most like it could be real. That can fool him into thinking it is real. The moments where the spaces between them break down, and they can tell each other things that feel— feel like they could be too risky to offer up otherwise. </p><p>They talk like that, a lot. Quietly, about all sorts of things, but eventually it wanders into softer ground, full of dangerous spots. It's easier, sometimes, to talk about things like this, where Tony doesn't have to know he's being watched for the wrong reaction, the wrong expression. Easier to say things when Peter just listens, warm and solid and taking in whatever Tony says without making a— a thing out of it. </p><p>And Peter has more than his share of things to offer up, to share with him. Things that remind Tony, again and again, that Peter knows more than Tony thinks. Peter understands more than Tony realizes. </p><p>Tony wakes up once, only half aware of what he's doing, his mind filled with orange and brown and a sky too large overhead and dust, yellow sand like dust and horrible thick grey dust clinging to his hands. Peter's face is there, like it always is in those dreams, and Tony clutches at him, waiting for him to fade, hoping that this one time he won't.</p><p>“Tony?” he hears. “Tony, what's wrong?”</p><p>He blinks again, and Peter's still there, Peter's solid in his grasp. Peter's hand is around Tony's arm, just shy of bruising tight and he's not— he's at home. He's at home and in his bed and so is Peter, because Peter is fine. Fuck.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tony rasps. “Shit, sorry baby. Didn't mean to—” and he doesn't have the right words for it.</p><p>“It's fine,” Peter says. “I'm fine. What was that?”</p><p>Tony thinks of not telling him. It's easy not to talk about it, really. People mostly don't want to, and he can deflect anyone who shows more interest. He doesn't really want to talk about it anyway.</p><p>But— it's been easy to talk like this, to Peter. To tell him things that he doesn't have to worry will go any further than the space between their bodies, curled close to each other. To talk to Peter, when he doesn't have to see his face, just a sliver of light in his eyes and a darker patch of space.</p><p>He loosens his grasp just a bit and Peter slides his hand over Tony's, holds them curved around his side. “I dream about Titan,” Tony says. “Sometimes.”</p><p>“You have nightmares, you mean,” Peter says, but it's not accusatory.</p><p>“Maybe,” Tony says. The two get mixed up after a while. “It's all— blood and dust and orange, sand. Fucking sand. It's hurting and watching and being left and—” He sighs. Peter shifts a little closer.</p><p>“Ruins,” Peter says. “Clouds that feel like they're going to fall on you and everything smelling like ozone and hot metal.”</p><p>Tony shudders. “Yeah,” he says, and god, how many other people could he say those things to and know they understand, that they're seeing the same things? Not a lot.</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter echoes. “I wish—” He hesitates.</p><p>“What?” Tony asks. “Wish you hadn't gotten off the bus?” a frail little attempt at humor that falls flat.</p><p>Peter tucks himself against Tony, forehead against Tony's shoulder. “Wish I'd gone without you seeing it,” he says, and Tony jerks. “Seriously,” Peter says. “Maybe you couldn't torment yourself with it so much then.”</p><p>“Maybe it'd be worse,” Tony tells him. God, thinking of Peter going like that, without even the limited comfort Tony had tried to give is so much worse.</p><p>Peter doesn't say anything, and Tony— “Sometimes,” he says, quietly, “I wish I'd gone too.”</p><p>He's waiting for something, something about how he couldn't have fixed things then, about how no one should want to be dusted, about how Peter's glad Tony didn't, but it doesn't come. Peter just breaths out against his skin, slow, even. “I'm sorry,” he says, finally, and Tony shudders.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Tony says, even quieter, confessional, but he knows Peter will hear. “Sometimes the dreams weren't so bad. Weren't awful, because— until I woke up, I could see you again.”</p><p>It's raw and awful and too much, way too much for what Tony's supposed to be to Peter, but it's too late to take it back now.</p><p>All Peter offers him is a kiss, soft, against Tony's brow. Another, on the edge of his cheekbone, and another, carefully tilting Tony's head back, against the corner of his mouth.</p><p>It's enough.</p><p>*</p><p>Tony doesn't spend nearly as much time in the suit as he used to, and he might miss it. Might; it's not like he couldn't step into the armor any moment he wanted to. It's not like he thinks of fighting and can feel the armor around him, heavy, so impossibly heavy, dragging him down.</p><p>Peter asks him about it, early on. “You know,” he says, watching Tony tinker with the nano version, having it form up and reform over and over, building pathways, “I don't think I've seen you in the suit even once since I got back. That's kind of weird.”</p><p>“Guess I've been busy with other things,” Tony says, brushing it off. He's not sure Peter buys it, not with the way he's watching Tony now, not the armor.</p><p>“Do you miss it?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I mean,” Peter says, “I know the armor isn't everything, but— I start missing it when I haven't suited up for a while. Like an itchy spot I can't get rid of. It just... feels good to be back in action.”</p><p>Tony's quiet. He doesn't really know what to say; he does know. He did know. Sometime in the last few years, the itch has faded to something much fainter. The wonder has gone out of it a bit, and he misses that.</p><p>“What did you like about it the most?” Peter asks. “What was like, the best thing about the armor?” and he sounds innocently curious.</p><p>“Flying,” Tony says, the answer right at hand. He smiles, thinking of it. “The first time I went out in it was the biggest adrenaline rush I've ever felt, and being able to fly like that— nothing matches it.”</p><p>Peter's grinning. “Breaking gravity,” he says. “It's amazing. I mean, it took me a while to stop being scared sick of heights, but now— maybe it's not flying but it's still really cool.”</p><p>Tony looks at him, that dopey expression on his face Peter's never grown out of, and he can't help how it catches him, pulls him right along. Peter, happy and grinning and excited— god, he wants that all the time.</p><p>“Come on,” he says, pushing himself up, the armor starting to form around his arm. “Let's go.”</p><p>“Go?”</p><p>“Go,” Tony says. “Swinging, flying— why shouldn't we? We're overdue some fun, aren't we?”</p><p>Peter bounces up. “Yeah," he says, "let's do it!” and darts for the door; “Hurry up,” he calls back over his shoulder, like Tony won't be suited up in a fraction of the time it takes Peter.</p><p>On some level, he'd meant it for Peter; maybe a little for himself, because he likes to see Peter having fun. But once they're out, once Peter's swinging alongside him and keeping up, matching him as Peter flings himself into the air like a maniac, it's just as much for Tony. God, he's been putting this off too long; flying again is so good it nearly makes him dizzy.</p><p>“Race you!” Peter shouts at him, and Tony laughs.</p><p>“To where?” but Peter's already taken off.</p><p>It's not a race, it's a chase, Peter leading the way and Tony half a beat behind; he could catch Peter easily enough but that's not the point. It's— it's for fun, it's playing, and Tony could do this for hours.</p><p>Peter stops eventually, somersaulting to a halt on top of some nameless random building. Tony touches down beside him and lets his helmet melt away. “Tired?” he says. Peter pulls his mask off— well, he supposes this is a relatively private spot— and shakes his head. He's grinning so wide Tony can't stop himself from matching it.</p><p>“Nope,” Peter says. “Are you?”</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow. “I'm not that old,” he says.</p><p>Peter takes a step closer. “I just had an idea,” he says, his hand coming up to rest over the reactor, and it's not the instant panic trigger it used to be. Still is, sometimes. He pushes Tony back, one step, two, and then Tony's got his back against the wall. Peter's free hand hits the wall beside Tony's head, the other sliding up over the armor until it's curved around the back of Tony's head, fingers catching his hair.</p><p>“You did, huh?” Tony says, his hands settling on Peter's waist.</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says. “I thought, you know what else would be fun? Making out until you get all desperate and whiny—”</p><p>“I'm not whiny,” Tony protests, and Peter gives him an amused, tolerant look.</p><p>“Whiny,” he repeats, “and then I'd blow you and jack off on the armor.”</p><p>Tony's brain short circuits. He manages a helpless little noise of want, pulling Peter closer. “Fuck,” he says after another breath. “I like that idea. You have the best ideas, kid.”</p><p>Peter grins. “I know,” he says, right before he kisses Tony.</p><p>It's an <em>awesome</em> idea.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter’s careful with him. </p><p>It’s not a thing Tony thought he wanted? Or something that he’s even had that much, if he sets the things Peter does next to what Tony’s had before. But god, it’s nice. Peter’s kind to him, as pathetic as that sounds. It’s not pity; it’s really not. He’s not sure Peter is even capable of that sort of pity. Peter just seems to want to… take care of him.</p><p>When has it ever not been the other way around? Tony hasn’t felt the lack of it, he thinks, because he’s never been that good at being taken care of. It just feels suffocating, like a set of rules that’s impossible to follow. He’s much better at taking care of people, even if he’s not great at that either. </p><p>It doesn’t feel like that with Peter. It doesn't feel like he’s constantly just falling short in some way he can’t quite understand, that even if he tries harder he’s still going to be a disappointment. He’s tried to tell himself it’s not something he’s doing; could anyone really live up to the public figure of ‘Tony Stark’? Of course people expecting that are going to be let down.</p><p>It’s only been moderately successful. </p><p>The thing is, Tony’s a little bit broken. He doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t mean to be, and he tries pretty hard to make sure Peter doesn’t notice. </p><p>Still, when they’re curled up together after their second round tonight, when Tony’s twisting his left arm back and forth, trying to ease some of the ache that never completely goes away, Peter notices. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” he says, reaching over and touching Tony’s arm. </p><p>Well, he sure as hell isn’t going to tell Peter that somewhere along the line, while Peter had him on his hands and knees, fucking him hard on the edge of the bed, Tony’s arm went numb. It’s not Peter’s fault; just too much damage to ever completely heal right, and something in there has a habit of pinching a nerve when it’s holding weight for too long at just the wrong angle. </p><p>He kisses Peter instead. “It’s nothing,” Tony tells him. “Just getting old, baby.” Peter narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t press. </p><p>Yet somehow, without Tony even really noticing for a while, any time he ends up positioned like that again, Peter shifts it. Pushes him down the rest of the way or pulls him up until he’s leaning back against Peter, a little helpless, or just flips him over and has at him like that, kisses him as he comes and buries his face in Tony’s shoulder when he does so himself. </p><p>Tony’s not delicate; he doesn’t mind if he occasionally aches after sex with Peter. Even wants to, sometimes. But it— it still means something to him, every time Peter makes a little effort, tries to keep Tony safer. It means something. </p><p>If Peter’s been this considerate with all his partners, no wonder he’d had so many. Word gets around about that sort of thing just as much as about the nastier stuff. </p><p>And if Peter keeps noticing those tiny things, those little points where Tony’s perfectly willing to go along with something Peter does even if it’s not the best thing for him, keeps noticing and keeps doing something about it— maybe Tony’s not going to do anything about it. </p><p>*</p><p>They don't tell anyone about this.</p><p>It's not really intentional at first; he doesn't know exactly what Peter had been planning, but Tony didn't think Peter would stay interested for long. Contrary to what the paps may believe, Tony doesn't actually announce all his hookups.</p><p>And Peter doesn't really counter that assumption. He's much the same around Tony as he has ever since he got back, like nothing more is going on behind (mostly) closed doors. Which is fine. Good, even, because if this is just a brief fling, Peter doesn't need to have half the world latching onto it and never letting it go. He really doesn't need anyone digging into his life, since he's still not comfortable with the idea of people knowing he's Spider-Man.</p><p>But as things go on... it's Tony who has to start watching out. Peter's affectionate. He always has been, but it's still going to raise eyebrows if he hangs all over Tony in public, holds his arm or leans close against him or drags Tony's arm around his waist.</p><p>It's still going to get some real awkward questions asked if he practically sits in Tony's lap in the common areas while other Avengers are actually there, for fuck’s sake. Tony's good at dodging contact, subtly or otherwise, and he's managed to sidestep most of Peter's attempts so far. He slips away from Peter and retreats to the kitchen, pretending he needs more to drink.</p><p>If this was something more—if he thought Peter might stick around—Tony would be more than happy to let Peter be as handsy as he wants.</p><p>Peter follows him, of course. “Hey,” he says, a smidge uncertain. “Uh, did I do something... wrong?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Just. I don't know. It seemed like you were kind of ducking out?”</p><p>Tony stares at the counter. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to say anything about this. “I just think— we should watch it around other people,” he says. “Be a little more discrete.”</p><p>Peter's quiet for a moment, and Tony doesn't look at him, busying himself with a glass of water he doesn't need at all. “Oh,” Peter says, finally. “I— sure, I get it, you're not ready to tell, like, the world. But— it's just our teammates. They're not going to go blabbing or be dicks about it.”</p><p>Peter's awfully optimistic. “Still,” Tony says. “For now. I'd rather we don't... act any different. Even around them.”</p><p>“Right,” Peter says, even quieter. “Right. I'm sorry, I didn't— I didn't mean to—”</p><p>“I know you didn't,” Tony says, interrupting Peter's stumbling. “Don't worry about it, kid. Just keep it in mind, okay?”</p><p>Peter nods. Leaves Tony alone, and when Tony comes back out, he's talking to Sam. Barely spares Tony a glance, and that's good. That's more like it.</p><p>If he's a little quiet, a little distant over the next few days, well, Tony understands. He's probably a little embarrassed. And if he's careful about avoiding not just too close contact in public but all contact, that makes sense too. It's hard to find that balance when you're wondering all the time about what others might see, think. And with his other flings, Peter probably never had to think about being cautious like that; who would care that he'd hooked up with some random student his own age? He gets it. Peter will figure it out.</p><p>It doesn't bother Tony at all.</p><p>*</p><p>For someone that’s supposed to know how one night stands and casual flings and friends with benefits work, Peter is actually really bad at it. </p><p>Not in the nasty jealous, overbearing way; he just keeps acting like he’s actually Tony’s boyfriend, like he loves Tony. He keeps sliding in these little things that are more— intimate, soft, and does it so casually. Like this is a real relationship, like Peter’s going to be sticking around for as long as Tony wants (forever, it’s forever). </p><p>It’s not that Tony really thought they’d only see each other in bed. Peter’s Spider-Man, and he has access to Tony’s labs; they’re going to end up spending some time together.</p><p>They spend so much time together. It’s not— fuck, it’s good, it’s so good, but it’s a disaster, because Tony is getting used to knowing where Peter is, to sharing space with Peter, to having Peter practically in his back pocket. It’s such a relief to just <em> know </em> that Peter’s going to be there when he looks up, and it’s only going to make it harder later. It’s only going to make it worse when he starts looking up and Peter isn’t there. </p><p>If Tony didn’t care about him so fucking much, maybe he could manage to be selfish enough to try and keep Peter. Peter’s sure as hell acting like he’ll get to keep Tony. </p><p>Of course he will. </p><p>It doesn’t help that Peter is a romantic. Scratch that. </p><p>Peter is a <em> sap. </em></p><p>They don’t go on dates— this isn’t that kind of relationship. Right? Tony’s pretty sure it isn’t. So when they go out and spend time together, go places and do things and just waste time on each other, it’s not dating. And besides, even if maybe it was a date… Tony’s not going to let it look like one. He still barely touches Peter in public, tries to keep his smiles and actions as mentorly as possible. Peter doesn’t need that kind of attention from the vultures that hang around Tony. </p><p>But sometimes it still really feels like a date. And sometimes it feels like more than a date, like Peter’s tailored a whole sequence of events just to Tony. Feels like a lot more, the way Peter watches him, soft smile and soft eyes and so fond it almost hurts to see it. </p><p>“Did I miss something?” Tony asks once, during one of those times. “Forget something important? Are we celebrating and I didn’t get the memo?” Peter snorts, so at least if Tony did forget something, he’s not mad about it. </p><p>“I know it’s not your birthday,” Tony says. “I’m actually really sure about that. And I’m pretty sure it’s not mine either. What’s up, kid?”</p><p>Peter shakes his head, smiling. “It’s nothing, Tony,” he says. “I just felt like it, that’s all.” </p><p>Tony has his doubts, but he doesn’t press. Whatever it is Peter’s doing, he doesn’t want to ruin it. </p><p>Later, once Peter’s passed out next to him and Tony is unable to sleep, he asks FRIDAY what he missed. </p><p>“The most likely event Peter might have been celebrating is an anniversary,” FRIDAY tells him. “It doesn’t seem like a long enough time span to celebrate, but there are few other options.”</p><p>“What,” Tony says. “What?”</p><p>“Three months ago to the day, you had sex the first time,” and gah, it’s disturbing hearing FRIDAY say that. </p><p>He turns his head to look at Peter, curled up on his stomach, face smashed into the pillow. Three months, and Peter thought it was worth celebrating. Had wanted to celebrate it, even if Tony was clueless about it. Is it that Peter’s never had a relationship that lasted that long? Or that Peter is really failing at the friends with benefits concept, even if he’s the one that proposed it? </p><p>Could it maybe just have something to do with Tony? </p><p>It hurts a little to think that; he knows it’s not true, but he’d like it to be. He wants it to be. Tony’s not good at casual relationships, never had been, and this— he’s already in way too deep. He was counting on Peter to keep things level. </p><p>And he doesn’t think Peter will.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter stays over a lot. A lot more than Tony expected, really.</p><p>He knows Peter has somewhere to go—several somewheres to go—that could be called home. That where he is with Tony is not home, even if there's always a space set aside, just for him, in every single building Tony owns. That's fine. Tony's not going to try and choose that for him.</p><p>It'd just— it'd be nice, if any of them were home, even just temporarily.</p><p>Sometimes Peter fools him into thinking about a future that isn't going to exist, and Tony should be— something about that. Angry? Sad? Resigned?</p><p>He's not. It's— fuck, he keeps saying it, but it's nice. He likes it, and even if it's going to be gone eventually, he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.</p><p>After all, it's so easy to enjoy. It's nearly impossible not to enjoy when he wakes up late and Peter's in bed with him, sprawled out and snoring faintly, soft little huffy sounds. Tony would have to actively fight it not to smile at him, at the ridiculously adorable picture he presents.</p><p>He shifts onto his side, reaching out and brushing Peter's hair... well, sort of into place, it's going to need more help than Tony can give. He slept the whole night through and while he wants to stay in bed, it's not because he's tired, not because he feels exhausted in a way sleep can't fix. Does it sound cliche to say Peter makes him feel young again? Fuck it, he doesn't care; Peter does. Maybe not quite; the discontent, the worry he'd tried to drown out with every distraction he could find— he doesn't feel that, thank god. It's the brightness, the expectation that things will work out in his favor even if they can't. The urge to shrug and say that for a little while, the woes of the world can be someone else's problem while Tony gives himself the good time, the good things, that he wants.</p><p>Peter twitches, sniffs. Mutters as he boots up, cranky little denials of being awake. “Hey sweetheart,” Tony says. </p><p>Peter smiles and cuddles closer without even opening his eyes, face planting right against Tony's chest. “Hey,” he mumbles. “Don't wanna be awake.”</p><p>Tony snorts. “It's not even early,” he says. “It's— what time is it, FRIDAY?”</p><p>“Eleven twenty six am,” FRIDAY says.</p><p>“Wow,” Peter says. “Really? That doesn't sound right.”</p><p>“Sure, insult FRIDAY,” Tony says. “Sounds like a smart plan.”</p><p>Peter laughs. “She's not insulted,” he says. “Are you, FRIDAY? She likes me better anyway.”</p><p>“Betrayed, betrayed on all sides,” Tony says, and Peter laughs harder.</p><p>“Still don't wanna be awake,” Peter says.</p><p>“Could I change your mind?” Tony says. “Any way to make up for the disappointment?”</p><p>Peter tips his head back. Looks at him, a little sly. “I can think of a thing or two,” he says.</p><p>“Feel like sharing?”</p><p>He doesn't get an answer in words; just Peter's hand threading through Tony's hair, gently pushing him downwards. He doesn't have to say anything; Tony knows what he wants. Peter's actually been incredibly clear what he wants, what he likes, all along.</p><p>Hasn't been shy about taking charge for ages, and it's such a fucking turn on.</p><p>Peter's hand stays in his hair as Tony slides down, as Tony teases him, kissing his hip and the crease of his leg, the inside of his thigh. Stays there as Peter lets him, watching him, and tightens slowly, redirecting Tony's attention.</p><p>He groans when Tony wraps his lips around Peter's cock, and it isn't long before he gets chatty, like he always does. Telling Tony how good he is at this, how fucking hot he looks, how much Peter loves having him do this. It's not the kind of love Tony wants most, but he'll take it.</p><p>“Fuck,” Peter groans as Tony pulls back a bit, letting his hand work the shaft while he spends some time on the head, playing with it slowly, carefully. “God Tony, that's so good, you're— ah, your tongue is <em> insane, </em> guh.” He laughs suddenly, breathlessly. “You can totally do that stupid cherry stem trick, can't you.”</p><p>Tony pulls off just enough to smirk up at Peter. “Of course I can,” he says. “Why, you wanna see?”</p><p>“Maybe later,” Peter says. “You're busy right now,” tugging Tony back in.</p><p>Keeps pulling at his hair, and Tony relaxes, lets Peter guide his head, dragging Tony down on his cock again and again. Peter starts rocking up further into his mouth each time, and Tony knows it's just a matter of time before Peter simply holds his head in places and fucks into his mouth. It's so hot, every time; the first time, he'd apologized after, still panting. “I'm not always sure if I'm watching my strength closely enough when I do that,” he’d said.</p><p>”Don't worry,” Tony had told him. “Next time, you can go harder,” and he'd meant it. And Peter had.</p><p>He pushes for it now, resists Peter's next pull a tad, only enough for Peter to feel it. Peter yanks his head down anyway and keeps him there; Tony moans, but nothing more happens.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter says, harsher than usual. “Look at me.”</p><p>When Tony looks up, Peter's flushed, mouth a little open, staring at him intently. Starts fucking his mouth, and when Tony's eyes slide closed, he stops. Snaps, his fingers tightening at the same time, <em> “Look </em> at me.”</p><p>Tony looks.</p><p>Looks the whole time, as Peter thrusts into him, as Peter breathes heavier, louder, as Peter tells him how pretty he is with Peter's cock in his mouth, how he knew Tony would be, as Peter's eyes flutter shut and his hands tighten on Tony's head and he comes, Tony mistiming and almost choking when he tries to swallow.</p><p>He just ends up making a mess, which is fine. He's licking his lips, catching the come that had leaked out, when Peter apparently recovers, his thumb sliding in the corner of Tony's mouth, right where his tongue had just been. Hooks there and holds him still, fingers beneath Tony's jaw, just for a moment. And then it's gone, his fingers tracing up the side of Tony's face, slipping into Tony's hair.</p><p>They stay like that, Tony's head settling against Peter's thigh, Peter practically— no, he is petting him, there's no practically about it. Tony's still hard, still wanting to get off, but it's a more distant want. Peter will fuck him at some point, and Tony will love it, but right now— right now this is just about perfect, Peter's hands on him, slow and gentle and not asking for anything more than to touch Tony.</p><p>He tilts a little more into Peter's touch and lets himself drift.</p><p>*</p><p>Tony had worried, at first, that Peter would still have too much hero worship in his eyes, too much blind awe. That it would feel like he was taking advantage of Peter, that he was having to put on an act of himself to match Peter’s expectations. </p><p>Peter doesn’t. He still— he still acts a bit awed sometimes, but it’s not— it <em> is </em>worship, but there’s nothing blind about it. There’s nothing idealized about it. </p><p>It’s just Peter, looking at him, touching him like he’s seen Peter touch the armor sometimes; delicate and mesmerized, like it’s—Tony’s—something really special. Tony is, of course he is; he doesn’t need to be told that. </p><p>But god, it’s still nice to be told. It’s still so nice to hear Peter say all these soft, ridiculous things: how good Tony is, how good he feels; how smart and hot and funny and kind. Amazing, Peter says, gorgeous, breathed against Tony’s skin and whispered into his mouth and told to him like they’re indisputable truths. Saying these things Tony wants to hear and can barely stand to hear, saying them while smiling at Tony, whether it’s with his cock deep in Tony or his shoulder pressed against Tony's as they look at some experiment or quiet, soft, spilling out like some unconscious confession. </p><p>Says them like they’re not a big deal, light and casual and constantly, endlessly, when Tony knows they’re not true that often. Knows it, is reminded of it nearly every day, but when Peter says it he can almost believe it. </p><p>Tony could get used to it, and like everything else about this, he’s pretty sure that’s a bad idea. </p><p>He could get used to a lot of things Peter does. To all the tiny ways Peter’s crept in and put his stamp on Tony’s life, so quickly— well, he’d already been there before, in a way. Peter isn’t flashy about any of it like Tony has a tendency to be; isn’t pushy about it either. It’s all little things, quiet things, thoughtful little things Peter does and treats like he didn’t have to think about it at all. He— </p><p>He brings Tony gifts, god.  Are they gifts even, really? He doesn’t think they’re things most people would consider gifts. They’re never anything crazy or big or expensive, and they’re never presented as gifts. </p><p>A pair of sunglasses, purple and black and cheaper than any others Tony wears; they still look good on him, and more important, every time he wears them he remembers how Peter had picked them off a spinner display and held them out. Hadn’t let Tony take them, just slid them onto Tony’s face himself. Smiled when Tony tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrow, an odd little smile, and told him they looked good. </p><p>Or a shirt, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt as old and worn and soft as the one he’d finally destroyed beyond salvage a few weeks before. Definitely not a more recent reprint, not in that cut, with that tag. “Where—” he’d asks Peter, because Peter doesn’t seem like the type that would care about that kind of authenticity. </p><p>Peter shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s amazing what you can find at the really junky thrift shops,” he says, lightly. He shrugs off Tony’s thanks, teasing him about it even. </p><p>When Tony finally goes to put it on a few days later, he realizes it smells like Peter. Like Peter’s worn it, more than once, even though Tony’s never seen him wear something like that. Like this is something Peter wears only in private, for himself, and Tony’s mouth goes dry. </p><p>And maybe it’s not as obvious, but so much of the time it’s not the thing itself that’s really the gift. It’s—</p><p>The food that appears when Tony finally comes out of a mental haze, starving, and he knows he didn’t have the forethought to order it. The coffee Peter brings him, more than once— not just any coffee, but his absolute favorite, from the only place he’s ever found that always does it right. The place that is all the way across town and has wacky hours and really does not care how much he is willing to pay to have them be open whenever he wants, so he gets it a lot less often then he’d like.</p><p>“How,” he says, staring at the cup after his first sip. </p><p>“Well,” Peter says, “it was on my way, and I thought I remembered you raving about them.” </p><p>Tony stares at him. It was absolutely not on his way. Not in any possible world. And this particular order— Peter doesn’t even know the full order. He would have had to tell the cranky, over muscled guy at the espresso machine who it was for to figure it out. </p><p>He thinks about pointing it out. About making a fuss over Peter going out of his way to do this for Tony, to bring him this. About teasing him a little, because Peter’s such a sap. </p><p>Peter’s got the slightest flush of pink in his cheeks, carefully ignoring Tony. </p><p>Tony takes another sip; it’s bliss. No, he’s not going to do anything that jeopardizes his chances of getting this again. </p><p>Or the coffee. </p><p>“Thanks,” he says instead. Leans over and kisses Peter’s cheek, and Peter goes properly red, adorable. It’s perfect. </p><p>Peter doesn’t hide his smile at that very well at all. </p><p>*</p><p>They still talk in bed, after. It’s started to feel like they could probably say these things elsewhere, where they could see each other clearly and it would still be ok, but there's something comforting about always having this to return to.</p><p>There's an odd sense— there are things they've shared that few others can understand, things that are so raw and awful and irrevocable that anything they say about them is intimate. These things that make Tony feel so close to Peter he's nearly under his skin, the way Peter's slid under his.</p><p>But they're not that close. Aside from those shared moments, they never managed the sort of closeness where the shared more than casual conversation. And they'd drifted from that even more when Peter removed himself from Tony's world as much as possible. Tony isn't who Peter used to know either.</p><p>There are still so many things to discover about each other, to tell each other, quiet confessions in the safe space between them, barely any air between their bodies. Peter tells him about his mistakes, slowly, haltingly; it's clear they haunt him and Tony aches for him.</p><p>But some small part of him is— god, it's awful. Is almost envious, that Peter still has mistakes held back, kept secret to tell Tony. Tony can't really imagine what that must feel like; when's the last time he made a mistake that wasn't front and center, on display to the entire world and in his face? When are his mistakes private things he can be ashamed of, instead of decisions he has to try to explain, try to defend if he doesn't want them to drown out everything else he's done? That he has to own, has to almost flaunt, has to pretend he doesn't care about, so it won't be so appealing to try and attack him with them?</p><p>He can't remember. What could he offer Peter in return that Peter hasn't already heard a hundred times, headlines splashed across front pages and top tier clickbait.</p><p>Would Peter believe it if Tony told him how deeply he regrets some of them, after Tony's shrugged them off on national tv? If Tony tried to tell him how they eat at him, how he can't seem to shake the bone deep shame of acting like that, how every step he takes to keep from repeating those mistakes only sends him stumbling into worse ones?</p><p>Peter talks about his summer, eventually. The summer Tony missed, while he was still dead. They've both avoided nearly everything about<em> that </em>particular topic so far, and this skirts perilously close.</p><p>It's awful.</p><p>Peter keeps himself fairly contained throughout; it's clear he's learned to, to try and distance himself a little. But even so, Tony can hear how it's still a gaping wound. Can feel how Peter tries, even now, to paste it over, pretend it’s fixed.</p><p>“I trusted him,” he tells Tony, his voice quiet, strained. “I— I had no reason to, but I did. I wanted to, because I missed you and he reminded me of you and he was— he was kind to me, when it felt like no one else was. And it was all a lie. It was a trap that I walked right into because I wanted to trust him and so I did, blindly. I was stupid. I was so stupid, Tony. I let you down.”</p><p>“No,” Tony says. “You didn't. You didn't, baby. I pushed you into a corner and I shouldn't have. You did the best anyone could have in that situation, against Beck's insanity. He was always charismatic.”</p><p>“I want to think I only fell for it because I wanted someone to— to fit in the space you left,” Peter whispers. “But I know it's not true. I was just stupid.”</p><p>“You weren't,” Tony says, pulling Peter a little closer, a little tighter.</p><p>Peter's quiet, and Tony— Tony should have left more behind for Peter. Should have done better, found a way to keep him safe. He should have known he couldn't trust Fury to handle things the way Tony had asked him to.</p><p>“Does it ever go away?” Peter asks.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Feeling like an idiot,” Peter says. “Thinking about what you should have done, about— about how you could have been so blind, so easy to lead.”</p><p>He wants to tell Peter yes. God, he wants to.</p><p>“When I came home, the first time,” Tony says, “before Iron Man was more than a few jumbled thoughts in my head— I had. I had a business partner. A friend. Someone I trusted completely.”</p><p>“I came home and I was a mess, and just, desperate to change things, to stop what I'd seen was happening. What I'd been blind to. And Obie didn't like it, he didn't think it was the right thing to do, but I believed he'd back me up. I trusted him, blindly.”</p><p>He had. He really had, and even now it hurts to think about this, to say this. Obie had been— had been so much to him, for so long, and nothing's ever been able to completely wipe away the memories that are— are good. There's so many of them.</p><p>Peter stirs slightly, leaning back like he can see Tony's face. He probably can.</p><p>Tony fumbles around for his hand, laces their fingers together. “He ordered the hit on me,” he says, “and when I survived that, he shut me out of my company and ripped the reactor out of my chest and left me to die.”</p><p><em> “What,” </em> Peter whispers, his hand tightening on Tony's.</p><p>“That's not widely known,” Tony says. “The people who know about it are... less than a dozen, if that. I couldn't have picked a worse person to trust, and I didn't even suspect anything until it was way too late. I wanted to trust him— he was my friend. He was— I'd known him my whole life, Peter. I loved him. It's been—” He laughs, weakly. “It's been longer than you've been alive, counting the blip, and I still second guess how I handled it, still wonder about how I could have been so stupid. You— it doesn't go away, but you learn to live with it. You have to.”</p><p>“What happened?” Peter asks, quietly.</p><p>“I killed him,” Tony says. Hears Peter's breath catch. “I got Pepper to overload the plant reactor and put him in place to be electrocuted. He was insane by the end, but if— I didn't—”</p><p>Peter looks up at him, just a glimmer of light catching his eyes. “I killed him too,” Peter says. “Technically one of his drones shot him by accident, but it was because of me. He was crazy and dangerous and going to kill me—he tried to shoot me in the head—but. If— I just let him die, Tony. I just stood there and watched him bleed out. I just watched, and I didn't—”</p><p>“I know,” Tony says. “I watched too. I know, baby,” and he's as shaken as Peter right now. I know, he'd said, and he did, but— Peter knew too. Peter understood, in a way no one else has ever been able to. The people they killed— they had to, but it <em> hurt. </em> Obie, Beck— they're still embedded in their minds, the end twisted up with what was before, and they always will be.</p><p>“You weren't stupid to trust him,” Peter whispers. “I think anyone would have. You— we weren't, were we.” He hesitates. “I trust you,” he says, “and I know that’s not stupid.” </p><p>It is. Tony’s not trustworthy, not really. Peter shouldn’t tell him all these things, shouldn’t give Tony anything that could be used against him. He wouldn't; god, he wouldn't ever, but it’s a little terrifying that Peter has done so anyway.</p><p>Peter could do the same to him, but Tony doesn't even think about it, honestly. It's just— it's Peter. He doesn't have to think about those sorts of things. It should probably unnerve him a bit more that he’s given this much trust to Peter, so easily. It’s not something he’s given a lot of people, and not something that’s generally ended well when he has. And Peter actually has broken that trust, has lied to him and hurt him, even if it might have been unintentional. </p><p>Tony should be wary. </p><p>“I trust you too,” Tony says.</p><p>He isn’t.</p><p>It doesn’t feel like a mistake at all</p><p>*</p><p>Peter isn’t kidding when he says he likes to top.</p><p>It’s good. God, it’s so good. It’s like Tony had forgotten how great it is to get fucked, and now that he’s been reminded, he can’t get enough. Sure, there’s a limit to how much he can offer in return after a certain point, and how active of a participant he is, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind doing more than his share.</p><p>Really seems to like it, in fact.</p><p>The first time Peter puts him down, catches Tony’s wrists and pulls them above his head and pins him in a way Tony can't escape from, Tony almost flinches.</p><p>He— he used to like that sort of thing. Before— when he was younger—fuck, when he was Peter's age—he'd liked it a lot. It'd made frequent appearances during sex and Tony liked it. Loved it.</p><p>When he came back— he'd told Happy and Pepper, ‘not what you think’, had gotten his cheeseburger and his press conference and his feeling of relief for taking a step in the right direction, but he'd wanted that too. Had wanted to just feel good for the first time in months, wanted something uncomplicated and fun and familiar.</p><p>When they'd pinned his wrists, kneeling over him, just like Tony had asked them to, he'd frozen. Had felt a sick twist of panic instead of arousal, and— and hadn't had any fun that night after all. He'd gotten lucky that person actually took the NDA seriously, or had a conscience, maybe. He'd gotten lucky they'd stopped before he even had to ask.</p><p>He tried, years later. Tried for the first time in ages, because— he'd liked it. He missed it, sometimes. and he trusted Pepper, trusted her completely. That would make all the difference, right?</p><p>It. It hadn't. He still feels bad about that. Still regrets even asking, when it made things so fucking awkward for a while.</p><p>But Peter grabs his wrists and traps him and looms over him, and when Tony takes a breath to tell him not to, the words die on his tongue. That's not the awful churn of panic that he expected.</p><p>It's something much hotter.</p><p>“Fuck,” Tony breathes out.</p><p>Peter stills for a moment. “Tony?” he says. “Is this not—”</p><p>“It's good,” Tony says hurriedly. “It's so good, baby.” Peter tightens his hands a little more and Tony sucks in a breath. “Peter—”</p><p>“Oh,” Peter says, almost to himself. Leans in a little more. “Are you going to fight me?” he asks, lower. Weighted, waiting for Tony's response.</p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p>“Good,” Peter says, smiling slowly at him. “I should have guessed you'd be good for me,” and the way he says it, the way he narrows his eyes when it hits Tony, when Tony twitches, making this needy sound in the back of his throat— Peter's played these games before. He <em> knows. </em></p><p>“You could have asked,” Peter says softly. Not accusingly, thank god, just— careful, like he thinks he could scare Tony off.</p><p>“I didn't—it's been a long time,” Tony goes with. “I'd almost forgotten.”</p><p>“Should I be gentle?” Peter asks.</p><p>“No,” Tony says, like Peter is capable of not being so. "Please don't, actually.”</p><p>“I can work with that,” Peter says. Grins— no, smirks, fuck. “I think you can ask nicer than that though, sweetheart,” and god— that, from Peter, from <em> Peter— </em></p><p>“I can,” Tony says, and he does.</p><p>*</p><p>It's Peter's fault</p><p>After all, Peter's the one that dragged him to see this movie— okay maybe there wasn't any dragging, maybe Peter had just stopped and stared up at the sign advertising a twenty four hour original trilogy marathon and grabbed Tony's arm. “It's just starting over again,” he'd said, and he hadn't asked, he hadn't pushed, but he'd <em> looked </em> at Tony with that hopeful, eager expression and Tony had caved.</p><p>So it's Peter's fault they're sitting here, Peter's fault that Tony got at most maybe two handfuls of popcorn they’re supposed to share, and Peter's fault that Tony's heart is sinking, his palm pressed against Peter's.</p><p>He untangles their hands, gently, setting Peter's back on the arm of his seat. He can see how Peter's turned toward him even in the darkness; when Peter leans close, he nearly jerks away. For a second, he thinks— Peter had picked the seats at the very back, and the theater is nearly empty; maybe Peter has plans that Tony cannot indulge.</p><p>But Peter just whispers in his ears, lips barely brushing it. “Tony,” he says. “Come on. It's dark, and we're all the way back here. No one will see.”</p><p>Tony hesitates, and Peter pulls back a hairsbreadth more. “It's just holding hands,” Peter says, and he sounds... disappointed. Fuck.</p><p>No one will see.</p><p>He doesn't say anything, just slides his hand back over to Peter's side and doesn't protest when Peter laces their fingers back together. Just squeezes Peter's hand slightly, and barely gives the movie another second of attention. How can he?</p><p>He couldn't have let Peter make out with him in the back of a movie theater, but he'd wanted to.</p><p>When the movie ends, when the lights come back up, Tony separates them again. That brief illusion of privacy is gone now, and he can't make up another excuse for why it might be okay this one time. Peter reaches after his hand; stills, staring at the little space between their fingers. Tony can't see his face.</p><p>“Kid,” he says, “it's just... not a great idea.”</p><p>“Still?” Peter says, like he thinks there's going to be a time Tony is okay with that kind of contact in public.</p><p>Tony sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Still. Look, it's— I'd rather not for now, okay?”</p><p>Peter's hand retreats, catching the hem of his shirt and twisting it up, a sure tell he's upset. <em> Fuck. </em> “Sorry,” Peter says. “I didn't— I shouldn't push you. It's—” He stops, the silence between them strained, awful. “Okay,” Peter says, finally.</p><p>It's not okay, it's clearly not okay; Peter's quiet, the enthusiasm he'd had all day leeching away. Tony hates it, and it's his fault. They'd been having fun, having a nice time, and then Tony had to go and drag it down. Just couldn't give Peter this one little thing, and— and Peter should know better, shouldn't he?</p><p>Maybe not. He might understand the ins and outs of causal relationships better than Tony thought he would, but maybe he never had to think about keeping those private. And it's only Tony's fault that he has to now.</p><p>Worse than the quiet, worse than the slight distance, so much worse than anything else; Peter is sad. He's sad, and Tony can't do anything about it.</p><p>He's still going to try, but he knows what would work best and he can't.</p><p>“I'm sorry too, baby,” he says, and it's for a lot more than hand holding.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter almost seems to take that as a challenge to ramp things up when they're alone, though. Just not... private. He corners Tony in elevators and kisses him, pushes him up against the wall in hallways and leaves hickeys on his neck, rolls up the privacy divider and crawls on Tony's lap and gets his hands in Tony's pants. Even drags Tony into a bathroom at one of the meet and greets Tony hosted, once, and manages to get Tony on his knees, Peter's cock in his mouth.</p><p>Tony should probably be protesting it a little more; he doesn't want them to get caught like this, after all. But fuck, it's so hot. and Tony's done much worse.</p><p>Felt much worse about it, during, after, and that's never a problem with Peter.</p><p>Peter gets him in the shop, multiple times. Gives him hand jobs in the back of several of Tony's cars, a feat in itself sometimes. Blows him under the workbench and fucks him up against a wall once—Christ, Peter's <em> strong </em>—and in general manages to mark far too many spots with memories Tony's going to have a hard time brushing off.</p><p>Maybe he'll just remodel the whole thing when this is over.</p><p>(He won't.)</p><p>One day, when Peter's fucking him on the desk, one good flail away from knocking an entire projector setup off it, Tony looses track of things a little. Peter had spent what seemed like hours eating him out, and somewhere between that and getting his cock in Tony, he'd flipped Tony over, back against the desk and legs around Peter. Peter's bent close over him, fucking him so slow, teasing him; Tony's been on the edge forever and he's not above begging if that's what Peter wants to hear.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter says, ducking his head and kissing Tony's shoulder. “God, Tony, you're so hot, so perfect. Want to keep you like this forever, fuck.”</p><p>Tony shivers, his hands tightening on Peter's skin. “Baby,” he says. “Peter— please, please—”</p><p>“I will,” Peter murmurs, “shhh, I know, I'll make you feel so good. Gonna make you feel as good as me,” going slower, slower, sinking into Tony and staying there, grinding against him. “Never going to get enough of you,” Peter says, turning his face towards Tony, kissing him. “Never going to stop wanting you,” he says between kisses, soft and light and just as horribly teasing as everything else, “Tony, Tony, you're so good for me, everything I could ever want, so perfect, oh— fuck, just perfect, Tony, I—”</p><p>It wells up in Tony, unintentional and uncontrollable, so true it steals his breath. I love you, he thinks. Peter, sweetheart, I love you.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter moans, shuddering, hips jerking as he comes, and Tony's barely a beat behind him, that thought filling up his head entirely.</p><p>It had crossed his mind before, softer, fond and worn around the edges, the thought that he loved Peter. And he had, he did, but it wasn't the same as this. It wasn't in this way, that he can't do anything about, that hurts, twisting in his chest like long gone pieces of shrapnel.</p><p>He won't tell Peter, because that isn't what Peter's looking for; is there anything more awkward and overwhelming than having someone too invested in what was just a little fun? Anything worse than trying to let someone you love—just not like <em> that </em>—down gently, knowing it's going to hurt them? Peter doesn't need that weighing him down.</p><p>He won't tell Peter how Tony's last hope of surviving this in one piece just vanished.</p><p>Peter's forehead is pressed against his, curved over Tony and warm, solid. Too close to focus on, and too close for Peter to see how Tony's been struck dumb by this. Tony raises his hand, brushes a strand of hair back into place. Peter, he thinks, softly even in his own head. Oh, Peter, baby. I love you.</p><p>It's not a good idea to say it even to himself but he can't help it. Can't help any of it. </p><p>He’s so fucked. </p><p>*</p><p>Tony really shouldn't be the least bit surprised that he fell for Peter. Much less that he fell so hard, so completely. He should have been ready for it all along— and honestly, maybe he had been. Maybe he had known; he'd thought it would kill him when Peter moved on, but it'd been— a different type of love. Hadn't it?</p><p>Fuck, maybe not. After all, isn't that one of his best skills? Falling in love with people that—regardless of how much they care in return—will always go on to better things? And he's happy for them, he is. He <em> is. </em> But he'd give up a lot if he could be the better thing, if they didn't ever want to move on. If he thought it'd work, he'd give up so much.</p><p>It won't; he knows this. You can't bargain someone into loving you the way you love them. He doesn't doubt that Peter loves him. He's sure of it; Peter loves easily. But he's just as certain that it's not the way Tony's fallen. Not bone deep and unshakable and ruinous. How could it be?</p><p>He's— he's Peter's summer fun. His ill advised fling with someone much too old for him, the one you look back on in twenty years and think of fondly, even now that you can see what an idiot you had been. He's Peter getting it out of his system, working his way through the crush he's had on Tony forever, right through it and on past it.</p><p>He's not Peter's forever.</p><p>He could be. He could make it— no. No.</p><p>It's okay that he's not, Tony decides. It's more than okay; it's a good thing. Peter's amazing, and young, and easily good. He needs someone who can match him, can challenge him in the right ways. Can be with him for more than a fragment of his life. Tony isn't those thing. He's many things, and he's more than enough to keep Peter happy for a while, to give him a good time, but he's not what Peter needs. Tony drags people down, and he doesn't want to do that to Peter.</p><p>It's a good thing that Peter is going to move on from him, and Tony's going to make himself believe it. Because he does know it's better for Peter, and he wants that even more.</p><p>Isn't that part of loving him, after all?</p><p>Isn't— isn't that what Tony should do? Even if he's never been good at paying attention to shoulds? He should be doing a lot of things, and at the top of the list is not sleeping with Peter. And definitely not falling in love with him.</p><p>Tony watches Peter, watches him fast asleep in Tony’s bed and looking perfectly content and— well, he thinks, it’s a little too late for both of those, isn’t it.</p><p>It was always going to be.</p><p>*</p><p>So he loves Peter. </p><p>So what?</p><p>It’s not quite the giant seismic shift he thought it would be. Probably because it’s not that he’s thinking of Peter any differently than before; now he just knows it. </p><p>It’s possible he has a little difficulty with acknowledging emotions, hush. </p><p>But it doesn’t have to change anything. </p><p>*</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says after one particularly trying day. “Okay, this is—” He glares down at the completely unfinished, uncooperative project and sweeps it aside. Brings it back after a second so he can crumple it instead, more satisfying even if it is just light. “This day is canceled.”</p><p>Peter snorts behind him. “What?” Tony says.</p><p>“Just,” Peter says, grinning. “I did not expect you to use that.”</p><p>Tony stares at him. “I’m going to pretend that made sense,” he says. </p><p>“It’s— you know what,” Peter says, “never mind.” But he’s still grinning</p><p>“It’s been an awful day,” Tony says, “and now you're mocking me. I need consolation. I need food. Oh my god, I need arancini.”</p><p>“You want me to go get some for you? Not that I would know where to go or even what the heck those are,” Peter says. He might be teasing but Tony’s more than willing to bet Peter would.</p><p>“Well you're about to find out,” Tony says. “FRIDAY, get the jet ready.” Peter makes a startled sound. “I mean,” Tony tells him, “the only ones worth having are from Savia. You’ll love Italy. Good thing you’ve got a passport now.”</p><p>Crap, he thinks a second later, because the last few times he’d attempted this, Peter had refused. Had protested and been uncomfortable with the whole idea, the conspicuous wealth of it all. And sure enough, Peter frowns faintly, opening his mouth. Tony sighs, internally.</p><p>Peter stops. Waits a second, and another, and then his chin goes up. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go. I’ve always wanted to see Italy.” </p><p>Tony just barely stops himself from gaping at Peter. “You heard him, FRIDAY,” he says. “Wheels up in an hour.” </p><p>Peter bounces around the inside of the jet for a bit, even though Tony knows he’s been in one before. Settles next to Tony, eventually, and stares at the window. There’s nothing much but clouds, but Peter doesn’t seem to care, resting the side of his head against it and watching. </p><p>He tries very hard to get Tony to have sex on board. </p><p>“Look,” Tony says, after the third hint, “if this was— uh, if this was back before Iron Man, sure thing. But trust me, this jet is no longer stocked with anything along those lines. Sadly.” </p><p>“Blowjobs,” Peter points out, all big eyes and fake sad. Tony knows it’s put on, he knows it. He’s not going to give in. </p><p>He’s not sure how he succeeds.</p><p>Catania is fun. It’s nice to be somewhere without there being any other reason, something weighing him down in the back of his head. And Peter makes it even more fun, with his enthusiasm for everything, his wholehearted embracing of all the silly little tourist things; Tony finds himself swept right along. </p><p>Dressed down like this, less flashy, sunglasses on, not where he’s supposed to be, he’s not as recognizable. Just being out of the country does a lot for that, and when Peter grabs his hand at one point—just to haul him along—he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even after there’s no excuse for Peter to hold his hand, and when Peter realizes— when he notices, he lights up. </p><p>God, it’s so cute. </p><p>They wander around for a few hours before they buckle down and go in search of Tony's arancini. He goes overboard in buying them, but Peter’s a bottomless pit so it’ll work out. Peter straight up moans when he takes the first bite and Tony waggles his eyebrows at him. “I told you,” he says. </p><p>“Oh my god,” Peter says. “You were so right.” </p><p>“I know,” Tony says and Peter rolls his eyes. </p><p>They keep going, and Tony keeps letting Peter be a little closer than appropriate and he doesn’t really want to leave. They do, but not until it’s full dark, not until they’re both a little tipsy and stumbling over their feet on the way back, Peter giggling softly. </p><p>He catches Tony at one point and pins him up against the wall, leaning into him. Kisses him, ever so softly, and Tony can’t make himself tell Peter no. </p><p>*</p><p>Of course they have sex on the flight back.</p><p>*</p><p>“Tony,” Peter says one day, in the midst of making out. His hair is still a little damp; he’d wandered by half naked after a shower, and how was Tony supposed to resist pulling him right back into bed?</p><p>“Mmm?”</p><p>“I’m kind of— uh. So,” and Tony takes note, because Peter hasn’t been uncertain in bed like this for ages. </p><p>“I know I said I prefer topping?” Peter says. “But… it doesn’t always have to be like that. I’m just. Just saying.” </p><p>Tony pulls back until he can actually look at Peter. “Is that a terribly unsubtle way of asking me to fuck you?” he says, and Peter scrunches up his face. But he’s smiling.</p><p>“No,” Peter says. “It’s just saying. If I was asking, you’d know.”</p><p>“I would, huh?”</p><p>Peter nods. “It’d be more like ‘Tony, I need your dick in me asap; think you can help with that?”</p><p>Tony starts laughing and can’t seem to stop; Peter looks proud of himself. “I don’t know,” Tony manages. “A blowjob could fix that problem of yours too.”</p><p>“Noooo,” Peter says, wiggling closer, hooking his leg over Tony’s. “Not good enough. I need you to fuck me.” He bats his eyes, ridiculously. “Pretty please.”</p><p>“Need? You sure it’s not just want?”</p><p>Peter goes a little softer in his arms, the silliness slipping away a bit. “Yeah,” he says, something that should be teasing but comes out so much more sincere. Comes out fond, almost. “I need you, Tony. I don’t want you, I need you.” </p><p>He kisses Tony, slow and deep. “Lemme try that again,” he says. “Tony? I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.” </p><p>“Did you really think for a second I was going to say no?” Tony asks. </p><p>“Probably not,” Peter says. “But you never know. You’ve <em> really </em> liked being fucked even more than I imagined. </p><p>“I’m pretty sure I’ll still be getting that,” Tony says, and Peter smirks. </p><p>As it turns out, Peter’s just as gorgeous under Tony as he is any other time, big surprise. Is so hot and open and squirms on Tony’s cock like a fucking dream. Peter’s legs are tight around Tony, not giving him a chance to pull out, and his hands are curled over Tony’s shoulders; he’ll have a little set of round bruises there tomorrow, he’s sure. </p><p>“Harder,” Peter says. “You can— god, Tony, I want it harder.” He jolts when Tony does just that, eyes closing as he pushes his head back into the pillow. “Yes,” he moans. “Yes, yes, that’s perfect, just like— oh, <em> yes.” </em></p><p>He gets a hand between them, jacking himself off fast as Tony fucks him, his skin slapping against Peter’s. Tony pushes up a little, adjusting, and the next thrust has Peter whining, high pitched and desperate, his hand stilling on his cock. “Again,” he says. </p><p>Tony huffs at him but does so anyway; Peter’s hand flies up, latching onto Tony’s hip and digging in, all of Peter clenching around him, ass and legs and arms. “There,” Peter gasps out. “Tony, I want,” breaking off as Tony gives him exactly what he wants. “Oh god,” Peter says, “don’t you dare stop, I will literally kill you if you stop, Tony— god, please, <em> please. </em></p><p>There’s something more than a little funny that even bottoming, Peter is as— direct about what he wants, about how he wants things, as he is on top. Something really nice. </p><p>It’s almost painful when Peter comes, his fingers digging in, his ass clenching so fucking tight, but Tony has his orders not to stop. Keeps at it until Peter moans in a different pitch, twisting under Tony. “Guh, enough, enough,” Peter mumbles. “Ohmigod, stop.” </p><p>“Promise you won't kill me,” Tony says, and that gets him an awfully cute little glare. He pulls out even though he's still so hard it aches and sinks down on Peter, squishing him against the bed. </p><p>He might not have Peter’s hearing, but he can feel how Peter’s heart is still racing along. Can feel how it starts to level out, Peter relaxing under him. Peter sighs, stretches a little bit. “‘kay,” he says, and flips them over. </p><p>Pushes himself up, kneeling over Tony, and slides down onto him before Tony’s even caught his breath. “Holy shit,” Tony manages, “Peter—” and then Peter’s riding him, fast and hard, flushed and looking at Tony so smug, with every reason to be so. He gets his hands on Peter’s legs, up and spread across Peter’s stomach, his chest; Peter lets him for a few minutes before he catches Tony’s hands, pushing them down onto the bed and leaning on them as he fucks himself on Tony’s cock. </p><p>This is Peter’s show, and Tony’s just along for the ride. </p><p>And oh, god, it’s a good ride, it’s so— so fucking good. There’s no reason to think Peter wouldn’t be as good at this as everything else, because he’s just— amazing, he’s so— “Peter,” Tony groans, “baby, please, I’m so— fuck, I’m going to come.”</p><p>“Then come,” Peter says, and Tony tightens his hands around Peter's and does. </p><p>When he opens his eyes again, Peter kisses him. Kisses his neck, his shoulder, and slides off, curling up next to Tony, limp against him. </p><p>“Get what you need?” Tony says</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Peter says. “Exactly what I needed. Think I’m going to need it again though.” </p><p>“So needy,” Tony mutters, and Peter laughs. </p><p>*</p><p>Peter asks him to come to Thanksgiving at May’s. Well, May and Happy’s. </p><p>Ask isn’t quite right. He didn't come out and say it like that, straight up ask if Tony will come with him. Instead, it’s, “Hey, I know you probably do something at the compound, but Happy’s managed to convince May to forget about the tofurky this year. You know, if you wanted to spend it with us.” </p><p>That’s. Does Peter think that’s okay? Has he brought other month long flings to ‘meet the family’? Maybe it’s nothing to Peter; after all, it’s not like May and Happy don’t already know Tony. </p><p>“But is she just replacing it with something worse?” Tony says and Peter laughs. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” </p><p>“Oh,” Peter says. “Sure. I mean, how many other Thanksgivings are you supposed to be at anyway?” </p><p>Tony’s not thinking, or he would have stopped himself from saying anything at all. “I’m sure I'm supposed to be at tons,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to go to any of them.” </p><p>Peter's quiet a moment. “So just a quiet night in he says,” a little sharp. </p><p>Shit, he shouldn’t have— no, maybe he should just let Peter think he’s not special in being turned down, that Tony just avoids it across the board. “Sure,” he says. </p><p>“They already know you,” Peter says. “They’re not— they’re not the public. We wouldn’t have to be so careful. They’re not going to think anything bad if we—” </p><p>“I don't think they really need to know anything,” Tony says, cutting him off. There’s a long, strained silence; he knows Peter would be happier if he’d said yes. He’d be happier if he said yes. </p><p>“Right,” Peter says. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t have even asked. Silly me.” </p><p>Tony has to clench his jaw to keep back everything he wants to say. To stop himself from trying to fix this. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he says instead. “It’s not a big deal.” </p><p>“You’re right,” Peter says, hard edged, and for once, Tony really doesn’t want to hear that.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter starts distancing himself, more and more. </p><p>It’s been happening slowly, little bits at a time, but it’s like a boulder picking up speed, how things escalate after that. It’s… obvious, in ways it hadn’t been before. It’s clear Peter is trying to make it obvious. </p><p>Tony isn’t going to react to it. He should, he should take the hint that Peter is ready for this to be over and end it himself, but he’s petty and hurting and still desperately in love with Peter and he’s going to let this drag on as long as possible.</p><p>It hurts, though, and—like he’d suspected—it’s the little things he wasn’t supposed to get used to that he misses the most. The little gifts, the random kisses, the cuddling after sex. Or even without sex. The impromptu demands to go do something fun, something anything, he’s sure Tony knows how to find something he’ll like. They’re not gone, but… they’re less. </p><p>They’re fading. </p><p>Peter’s fading.</p><p>There’s been talk for a while about building up teams in other areas; the Avengers seem to breed villains. Or maybe it’s more like, since they’re present, overblown, overpowered idiots want to challenge them. And the smart ones— the smart ones strike out of easy reach.</p><p>But it’s looking more serious now, plans for a west coast version of the Avengers taking shape. Most of them are young. Are Peter’s age, roughly, and— maybe it’d be good for Peter to have a team to grow with, rather than playing catch up with one that formed long before him. </p><p>Peter mentions them one day over morning after breakfast—breakfast that he’s been skipping out on more often—and Tony’s heart sinks in a way he hadn’t expected. </p><p>“Thinking of joining them?” Tony asks, carefully neutral. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Peter says between bites. “Not really? I guess I haven’t thought about it much. They’re talking about uh, San Diego, right? Or— no, it's L.A. There’s not as much to swing from there, and— well, I’ve never been there, who knows.”</p><p>He pauses, smiling slightly. “But I love New York,” he says. “If they asked, though, I’d at least consider it. It’d be different. What about you?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I mean, you said you loved Malibu; that’s close, isn’t it?”</p><p>Tony did. Does. Maybe— he hasn’t been back in years. The memories he has of that place are all mixed up, a jumble of good and bad and fucking terrible all blurred together that he hasn’t bothered to sort out. Not when he can just avoid that coast entirely if he wants. “Yeah,” he says, slowly. “I did. But I like New York a lot too. There’s plenty to keep me here.”</p><p>“Maybe you should think about it,” Peter says. “Like, you could make it work, I bet. Who’s going to stop you?” You, Tony thinks; I don’t want to go anywhere you’re not. </p><p>“Just...” Peter hesitates, staring too intently down at his plate. “Don’t let anything hold you back or keep you here if you actually want it. Cause you shouldn’t put— I feel like you don’t give yourself things you enjoy all that often.”</p><p>Tony’s— Tony’s reading things into that aren’t there. He hopes. Because that sounds a lot like Peter is trying to tell him not to… not to stick around for Peter. Like Peter won’t be there to stick around for, like Peter wouldn’t do so himself. This isn't serious, after all. </p><p>He laughs, shortly. “Haven’t you heard, Peter?” he says. “I’m rich and spoiled; I don’t do anything except what I want.”</p><p>“Wow,” Peter says. “Yeah, that’s not true,” and where does Peter get off noticing shit like that.</p><p>“Anyway,” Tony says before the silence can grate, “they wouldn’t need me; I’m hardly active these days. I could be the money, I guess, but I don’t have to be there for that.”</p><p>Peter’s looking at him with this little furrow in his brow, not quite worry but close. “Maybe they’d need a genius,” he says. </p><p>God, Peter’s sweet. It’s been a while since that was the first thing people thought about Tony. “Maybe they would, baby,” Tony says. </p><p>Maybe he can use that excuse if Peter joins them. If he decides to pretend that wouldn’t be Peter running away from him. </p><p>Maybe not.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter’s been sulking all day. No, not sulking; moping. </p><p>That’s worse.</p><p>Not that he's said anything that out of character. It’s all been in the way he stares at Tony for far too long, the heavy sighs, the fiddling and getting nowhere on his project. The way he’d shrugged when Tony suggested one of his favorite takeouts, the way he’d just trailed after Tony from bedroom to shop to kitchen and back. </p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, finally. “Peter, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Peter starts. “Uh,” he says. “Nothing. Nothing, I'm fine.”</p><p>Tony spins around and looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Cause you haven’t sounded fine all day.” </p><p>Peter just shakes his head. </p><p>“Baby—”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s not important, Tony. There isn’t anything you can do about it.” </p><p>“No?”</p><p>Peter smiles at him, a small, sad little thing. “I’d tell you if you could,” he says. “I wish you could. But it’s just…” he shrugs. “Yeah.” </p><p>Maybe it’s almost time, Tony thinks. Maybe Peter’s starting to see this isn’t where he wants to stay. Starting to think he wants to move on, and— knowing Peter, he’s probably feeling guilty. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Tony says. Can’t say the rest, that it’s okay for Peter not to love Tony that way, that it’s okay for him to want something different, to find someone else. </p><p>Can’t say it, and, despite his best efforts, can’t really honestly mean it either. </p><p>“Whatever it is,” Tony says, Peter glancing up, “it’s okay, sweetheart.” He smiles at Peter, trying to keep it from showing any of his own unhappiness. </p><p>Peter stares at him and looks miserable. Sucks in a breath and then he’s walking towards Tony. Stops right in front of him, so close, right between Tony’s legs, familiar. Is this how it ends, Tony thinks, just like it began? </p><p>“Tony,” Peter says. Slides his hand into Tony’s hair and kisses him, kisses him until Tony’s completely out of breath, Peter pressing forward a second longer before he breaks away himself, gasping. “Tony,” Peter says again, dragged out of him, harsh. </p><p>“Baby,” Tony says, “what—”</p><p>“Can I steal you away for a little bit?” Peter asks. “Just, take up your time without it disrupting anything?”</p><p>“Of course you can,” Tony says. </p><p>“Okay,” Peter says. </p><p>Blows him right there, not even letting Tony get up, and then drags him back to Tony’s bed and fucks him forever, so slow and drawn out it’s agony. It feels like Peter’s hands are all over him, the slide of Peter’s cock in him nearly the only thing Tony can concentrate on; nearly, because Peter’s even more talkative than usual, even more over the top with all the things he tells Tony. They’re a little hard to take, like they haven’t been in ages. Hurt, Tony wondering if Peter’s saying them for Tony, or saying them for himself, to try and convince himself to stay a little longer. </p><p>It doesn’t matter, really, because they still work just as well to turn Tony into a helpless mess, to have him begging Peter for more and more and more, Peter just tormenting him and dragging it out endlessly. By the time he finally lets Tony come, Tony’s brain has completely shut down, and Peter comes barely moments later. Clings to him and doesn’t let go, even long after he’s gone soft and pulled out of Tony.</p><p>Tony’s half asleep, vaguely aware of Peter’s hand smoothing over his chest, of Peter kissing—more nuzzling—the back of his neck. “I wish,” Peter whispers, so quiet. “I wish there was something I could do. Some way I could make you—” he sighs, breath hot against Tony’s skin. Tucks his head down a little more, forehead resting where his lips had been, and clings tighter.</p><p>Yeah, Tony thinks, fuzzily. He wishes too.</p><p>*</p><p>Things fall apart at a Christmas party, of all places. </p><p>Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise; Peter’s been a little off the past month or so, a little antsy, and Tony suspects he’s trying to think of a good way to end this, to move on. He knows Peter’s been discontent lately, even if he’s not quite sure if there's more to it, what that might be. If he was, maybe he could fix it. Maybe he could keep Peter a little longer. Store up a few more good memories for when Peter leaves him behind. </p><p>He’s had six months to do so, but he’s never going to have enough to make up for Peter’s absence.  </p><p>They don’t go together, don’t arrive at the same time. It’s still a secret from everyone that they’re fucking, and Tony wants to keep it that way. He doesn’t want anyone ever to think Peter might have gotten ahead by sleeping with him. Or— any other number of ugly things people would say. </p><p>But they run into each other soon enough. Peter looks good; he always looks good, but he’s ditched the plaid for a dark blazer, over jeans that fucking cling in all the best places. Tony wants to put his hands all over Peter. Wants, just as badly, to have Peter on his arm. </p><p>Peter grins at him, soft and little silly. “Hey,” he says. “There's mistletoe...”</p><p>Tony glances up; sure is. He doesn't like the way Peter let that sentence trail off, because— well, they've avoided anything coupley in public so far. Peter knows this. Why risk it now?</p><p>And he really doesn't think he can manage to give Peter the kind of kiss that would be appropriate from a mentor.</p><p>Peter leans in, like he's about to go for it, and Tony takes half a step back. “Better not,” he says, and that grin slips away. “I'll make it up to you later,” Tony tries.</p><p>“You don't— I don't want—” Peter cuts himself off, his jaw clenched. Closes his eyes and holds his breath, and when he lets it out his whole body slumps as well. “Sure,” he says. The faint smile he manages to summon up isn't— isn't good.</p><p>God, Tony hates this. Peter's a romantic and Tony knows it, but however mopey it makes him, Tony's not going to give in. Soon enough Peter's going to move on and he doesn't need everyone to know he had a fling with Tony. Some things are just better left alone.</p><p>He'll probably want a kiss on New Year's too, if he's still around. Maybe Tony can find a way for them to duck out. “Peter—”</p><p>“It's fine,” Peter says, in a tone that suggests anything but. “I know, you don't want anyone to know what we're doing. It's not like any of it means anything.” He laughs, short and sharp. “It's never going to mean anything; I get it, I know. You don't have to keep—” His voice cracks, and he starts to turn away.</p><p>“What— wait,” Tony says, catching Peter's arm. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>Peter looks at him—glares at him, really—and Tony wishes he hadn't. He's right on the edge of tears and Tony doesn't understand <em> why. </em>Sure, Peter’s been unhappy Tony won’t let anyone see what’s going on, but this— of course it means something to Tony; Peter’s the one who wanted just fun.</p><p>“You're so stupid sometimes,” Peter snaps. “It hurts, okay? I hate that you don't want people knowing about me, about us. That you're so— so ashamed of being with someone less than half your age, with <em> me— </em> You’re so worried about what people might think that you won't even kiss me under the mistletoe. I mean, come on— Thor already got me once and no one batted an eye.”</p><p>All Tony can do is shake his head, weakly, because— Peter thinks Tony's ashamed of him? That that's why he's so careful about how they act in public?</p><p>“God, Tony,” Peter says, quieter, looking away. “I've been in love with you for ages and it’s awful every time you make it so obvious that you—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I love whatever you'll give me,” he says, “I really do, but I can't help wishing that you could feel the same. I know you can't, I just—”</p><p>“Peter,” Tony says, and he can't believe— it's too big, too impossible for him to believe, but Peter said it. “Peter, baby, come here.”</p><p>Peter comes easily enough when Tony pulls him in close, closer than he ever has in front of other people, pulls him and kisses him.</p><p>There's a startled little sound from Peter and then he's kissing back; Tony lets it go on, lets it go a little messy, a little filthy. There is absolutely no mistaking this kiss for anything innocent.</p><p>“What,” Peter whispers when they break apart. “Tony, what—”</p><p>“If I'm stupid sometimes then you are too,” Tony tells him. He feels almost dizzy, giddy with the thought that Peter— that Peter might <em> stay. </em> “I am ridiculously in love with you. I wasn't doing anything in public because I didn't want you to have to deal with the backlash of that forever, not for just a little fling. Because I thought all you wanted was— was friends with benefits, some fun for a while.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Peter says. “We're so dumb. We're a living Lifetime movie, you know.” And, while Tony is trying to decide just how insulted he should be, kisses Tony, just as long and hard and hot and fuck, Peter loves him, Peter said he loved him, how is this real?</p><p>There's a wolf whistle and they break apart, Tony glancing over at the little crowd they've attracted. Rhodey's grinning at him, eyebrows raised, and Tony would be willing to bet that had been him.</p><p>That was maybe another part of the reason he hadn't done anything public. Because if the people who actually matter accepted this… they’d also never let him live it down. </p><p>“Get it, Peter,” MJ says, holding up her phone; Jesus, had she been recording them?</p><p>Peter's blushing when Tony looks back at him, but he still manages to flip her off. “I'll have you know I've been getting it,” he says.</p><p>There's a chorus of groans; “Too much information,” MJ says, and Tony can't help it, because— because he can, now. </p><p>“You’ve been giving it,” Tony murmurs. Leans in and kisses the edge of Peter's jaw as Peter starts to reply, and Peter turns into it, kissing him again.</p><p>“Get a room!” Scott calls. Peter grins as the kiss ends.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says, not looking away. “We're going to. Bye; have fun, get drunk, ask me more about my amazing boyfriend in the morning.”</p><p>Peter's giggling as Tony tugs him along, leaving all that behind, adorable, giddy giggles that make Tony want to do all kinds of things they really can't do in public.</p><p>“Way too much information!” someone shouts after them.</p><p>“You get what you ask for!” Tony calls back. Kisses Peter again, short and sweet, his hand on Peter's hip. “Tomorrow night,” Tony says, “I'll take you someplace ridiculously fancy and hold your hand and feed you dessert and kiss you right in the middle of the restaurant.”</p><p>Peter's smile is soft around the edges, the way Tony likes it best. “I can't wait,” he says, and neither can Tony.</p><p>For New Year's, he'll find the biggest party—hell, he'll throw it even—and they won't sneak away to kiss when midnight comes. And Peter—   </p><p>Peter will be there, because Peter's not going anywhere.</p><p>*</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>